


And The Wild

by MellowJam



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Actual plot, Also I love Olgierd so he is there too, But she cares about them, Eventual Smut, Fucked up timeline since Geralt meets Jaskier way later, Geralt is soft and in love with Jaskier, He’s just softer and more tired, Inspired by games!Geralt, M/M, Marking, Mentions of childhood abuse (they’re witchers so obviously), OWS : Original Witcher School, Protective brothers, Scent Kink, Who am I kidding of course there will be porn, Witcher!Jaskier, Witcher!Olgierd, Witchers Have Feelings (The Witcher), Yennefer is way too patient with these fools
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:08:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24064834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MellowJam/pseuds/MellowJam
Summary: Geralt hears about a new Witcher school producing young mutants, and decides to investigate. He doesn’t expect to actually meet one of them. Even less to fall in love with him.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 29
Kudos: 215





	1. Chapter 1

It’s just a rumor. Whispers in the streets, tales they tell to kids to frighten them into compliance. That’s what Geralt tells himself the first time he hears about it. But then when it is time to go back to Kaer Morhen for winter and sleep the year away, Vesemir is the one to expose his concerns. Eskel confesses he met one of them, wicked creatures slaying beasts as efficiently as them, wearing silver medallions around their neck, eyes glowing in the darkness as they leave nothing but a trail of dead monsters and expired contracts behind. A new batch of Witchers. 

Lambert flies into a rage when he hears about it. Everybody knows what he thinks of the way they turn kids into mutants. He still resents Vesemir for it. No choices are left for the children brought to the Witchers, forced to endure the trials or die before their first decade of life. So when he learns that a new school has formed to fight the sudden sprout of monsters these past years has brought, he yells and breaks things and drinks himself into a stupor. 

Geralt has always seen himself as a big brother to Lambert, but it’s Eskel who calms him down and dries the tears that they were all deprived of. They end up sleeping in the guest room, bundled up like when they were still younglings. They promise each other to investigate in the incoming spring, and Vesemir doesn’t protest. He wishes them good luck on the Path when they leave, hoping that his wolves will return alive and well for the next winter. 

Geralt travels to Oxenfurt first. He has heard about griffins sprouting like weed in the city’s surroundings and tells himself that good coin will come out of these hunts. He doesn’t expect to find that most of the contracts have been taken already. When he asks the elder who posted the notice, the man mentions a witcher already promised to take care of it, and that he can’t afford to pay for two of them. Geralt frowns and asks if he’s sure it was a witcher who took the contract, and not some wannabe adventurer, but the man is positive.

« I’m sure, master Witcher! He had cat-eyes, just like yours, except his were bright blue and he wore a different medallion around his neck. »

Geralt has never heard of a blue-eyed witcher, but the man is so certain of what he saw, it makes him doubt. He promises he won’t ask for extra coin if he decides to team up with this strange Witcher, and goes after the so-called mutant. Maybe it’s the rumors that have gone to his head, and a little bit of paranoia, but he suspects that this might lead it to « the new batch » of witchers they discussed back in Kaer Morhen. If not, then at least he can try to save a fool from dying trying to be a hero.

He heads to the crossroad where the griffin was last seen, and finds the remains of an attack there. Old, the bodies were moved a while back, probably already buried by some villagers brave enough to venture to the monster’s territory. It’s not hard to follow the trails from here, feathers and blood tracing the way back to the nest that’s leaning precariously on the remains of an old guard tower. The beast is nowhere to be seen, but Geralt has no trouble finding clues of a fight here. It looks like he’s too late, deep marks in the ground from where the so-called Witcher has been thrown by the griffin’s powerful wings, hints of blood and venom staining the earth. Archgriffin then. The poor lad is probably already dead. Still, Geralt decides to climb the rumbles of what appears to have been stairs once, and makes it to the top of the tower. The stench is stronger there. Excrements, venom and the distinctive smell of a monster’s nest. When he makes it to the top, he is surprised to find the nest already destroyed. He has to sniffs at the remains to make sure, but it’s hard to ignore the well known taste of powder. A makeshift bomb, just like the ones some Witchers use. 

From up here, he can gaze upon the hills, foolishly hoping to find something that will lead him to the beast or its carcass. All he sees is a grey horse, grazing at the edge of the forest. On his rump is resting the bloody head of an arch-griffin. Well, fuck. 

He hurries back down and grabs Roach’s reins, dragging her along despite her furious protesting. The grey mount is very obviously a stallion, already preening when Geralt’s mare approaches with reluctance. A bad choice for a Witcher, to bother himself with an animal whose mind is sorely focused on mating and fighting, and not into being an agreeable companion. Yet, the animal has a strong rump and an even stronger neck, and seems to bear with its stack as if the heavy head of an arch griffin resting on his back weighted nothing to it. It neighs to Roach whose ears are flat on her neck, daring the other horse to take a step closer, and Geralt is too focused on the display to notice the man that seems to appear out of nowhere, leaning against a nearby tree with a cocky smile on his face. 

« Not gonna try to steal my hunt, I hope. »

If he weren’t a Witcher, Geralt would have jumped from the surprise. The man seems to notice it nonetheless and chuckles, only amusement and not a single hint of mockery tainting his voice.

He carries two swords in his back, still wet from the quick dip in the nearby river, probably to rid himself from all the blood that’s been staining his skin and armor. 

But what strikes Geralt the most are the two bright, blue eyes that are staring straight at him. Horizontal slits splits them in halves, like a cat gazing into the sun. 

« You’re a Witcher? » Geralt asks, gruff and confused. 

Despite the obvious clues, the man doesn’t look like a witcher. He’s as lean as an elf, so thin a faint breeze would take him away. Devoid of visible scars, he wears a medallion too different from the ones that Witchers usually carry. This one is shaped like a golden bird, hanging around his neck like cheap jewelry.

« What, don’t I look the part? »

The stranger spins on himself, a dramatic pirouette as he approaches Geralt to greet him properly. His steps are light, so silent it’s like he’s not even touching the ground. The swords on his back are very real though, one made entirely of silver, short and slims. Probably custom made, judging by the bird that’s engraved in the handle and the way they fit the man’s height and size. The younger witcher offers Geralt his hand and grins. Geralt doesn’t take it.

« I’m Jaskier. School of the shrike. Nice to meet you, wolf. » 

Geralt grunts, always short on words when it comes to making friends. The other Witcher seems to understand that pretty quickly because he doesn’t take offense in the lack of answer, and smiles even brighter. There are two fangs biting at his lower lips, a result of the mutations. Geralt knows that because he had the same when he was nothing but a young pup. After decades of shaming and biting, the canines had trimmed themselves into dull sharpness. Jaskier’s look as if the boy had never used them. 

« Never heard of a school of the shrike. » He mumbles, worried that the rumors about newly made Witchers might be true. 

« That’s because we’ve just been taught how to fly. » 

The kid (because he can’t be older than twenty, not with these teeth and that unblemished skin) chuckles again and hums something as he heads towards his horse, pinching the stallion’s neck when it tries to take a step towards the mare.

« Now now Dandy, the lady is obviously not interested, be courteous. »

The grey mount snorts and acknowledges its owner by pressing its lips to his shoulder pads and nipping at the turquoise shirt underneath. That’s when Geralt notices the wound on the Witcher’s flank. A claw mark, it seems, barely deep enough to be hurtful- Yet, something in his chest makes him react and he is already looking through the satchels that are hanging on Roach’s saddle. He tosses the roll of bandages to Jaskier who catches it without even looking, reflexes as sharp as a cat’s. He seems surprised by Geralt’s sudden generosity and literally beams at the older man when he realizes what it is he’s holding. 

« Oh. Thank you. »

There’s something in this smile, in the innocence Jaskier is giving off that makes Geralt act like he is. The bird reminds him of a younger self, barely out to discover the world, still thinking it holds many wonders. He aches from the hatred and horror the boy is about to find instead. 

He grunts an acknowledgement and mounts Roach, ready to depart. He needs to write to Vesemir, tell him the rumors of a new school are actually true and that a flock of birds of prey fly now above the lands. Very efficient predators, it seems, as he glances back at the arch griffin’s head.

He doesn’t expect Jaskier to follow him back to the village, babbling about the weather and of his fight with the beast as if both were of the same importance. 

—

It’s at least a thirty minutes ride back to White Orchard, and Jaskier hasn’t stopped talking ever since they left the Griffin’s den. He keeps asking questions about Geralt’s personal life, his witcher’s records, begging for interesting stories of wild hunts and dangerous battles, about how he got the scar on his face, all which Geralt ignores by popping questions back at him. 

« - and then, Ogfried, my brother, he got all mad and punched our instructor in the face! Man, that was pricele- »

Geralt interrupts him, not really caring for the childhood stories and more interested in this mysterious School of the Shrike. 

« Is there many of you left? »

Jaskier throws him a questioning look, probably surprised by Geralt’s sudden intervention. 

« What do you mean? »

« I mean, is there a lot of Witchers from your school out there? »

« Hmm. Yeah, I guess there is. More than your kind, that’s for sure. But we’re brand new, so the numbers should thin out along the years. »

Geralt hums and goes back to being completely silent. This time, Jaskier joins him. 

He knows the lack of Witchers still alive played a major role in the reappearance of monsters across the land, but creating a whole new school to remedy this ? That’s - forbidden. Taboo. Dangerous, even. Surely the people won’t welcome the news with thunderous applause, once the word spreads. 

He takes a good look at the boy riding alongside him, and he can’t help but feel pity for him. Jaskier radiates carelessness and eagerness to please. It reads as if written in fine letters across his face. The way he smiles at the few merchants they meet on the road, the way he carries himself to appear as human as can be, hiding his monstrous eyes behind carefully placed strand of wavy brown hair. He’s still bare to the world, too inexperienced to build walls and comply to the fact that Witchers aren’t supposed to feel anything. 

« Should I buy you a drink as a way to thank you? » Jaskier asks as they approach the village. 

« Thank me for what? »

« For checking in on me, in case I was an errand knight looking for glory. »

Geralt carefully avoids looking at the smile Jaskier throws in his direction and hums his answer. 

« Sure. Why not. »

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the poor vocabulary, I’m trying my best with english not being my first language!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> .

Geralt has never met a Witcher quite as talkative as Jaskier. Even Lambert, who is well known for talking out of his ass and spouting bullshit every time he opens his mouth, seems quiet next to the Shrike. The conversation is pointless, but the ale is good, so Geralt makes an effort to act as if he was listening. Jaskier made good coin from slaying the arch griffin, but he doesn’t seem eager to keep it all for himself, so he buys food as well. Some dried meat and cheese, and a bottle of wine of the finest brew that Jaskier promises to open if Geralt is willing to spend the evening with him. They play cards, bet potions recipes that Geralt wins easily thanks to Jaskier’s tendency to pout every time he draws a shitty hand; all in all, the kid is pretty easy to read and please.

They end up drunk and full, stomach almost taunted from all the bread they stuffed in their mouth and the beer they gulped to wash it down. It’s a nice, comfortable evening and nobody dares to tell the two witchers to fuck off already, despite it being the middle of the night.

Come the morning, they wish each other good luck on The Path and part ways.

—-

It takes almost a year for them to meet again.

Geralt spends the next winter in Novigrad, navigating between nearby contracts and visiting Yennefer, who, as warm as ever, still agrees to welcome him in her not-so-humble estate. They mostly talk, fight and fuck, and it’s only late at night that they whisper sweet words to each other, both a little drunk from that awful Toussaint wine the sorceress is so fond of. But this thing between them never lasts. They get sick and tired of the other’s presence after a few months of co-inhabiting and part ways as soon as spring points its nose.

It doesn’t surprise Geralt to see Yennefer so eager to leave; she’s always been a solitary animal, almost as eager for adventure as Geralt, who is restless after a winter of compliance and small contracts involving a few drowners straying into the city’s sewers.

He’s almost ready to leave Yennefer’s mansion, but he’s been lazy and the softness of coming home to someone every evening or so has rendered him helpless. His potions suffered harshly from his neglect, so he decides to pay a visit to a herbalist friend of his, west of Novigrad. A halfling who he helped with an arachasaes invasion some time ago, and who promised him the best prices for the best herbs as payment. The short ride is smooth and uneventful, so to meet a familiar grey stallion in the halfling’s garden, devouring the bison grass under the eye of his helpless owner is somewhat unexpected.

« Dandelion, stop! I swear on Melitele’s tits, if you don’t move I’ll ignite your sorry ass! »

The blue-eyed Witcher is tugging on the stallion’s reins so hard, he’s getting red on the face, and Geralt can’t help but let his presence known by trying to stifle a low chuckle.

Jaskier seems surprised to see him there, but the ridicule of the situation has made him sour, so all he does is pester and glare, mumbling something that sounds suspiciously like « dumb wolf, not even willing to help », which makes Geralt chuckle louder.

Dandelion eventually loses interest in destroying the poor halfling’s garden, and decides to trot after Roach instead, dragging Jaskier behind like the boy is nothing but a fly on his rump, barely an inconvenience.

« You really ought to find a better steed, bird. »

« Dandelion is a fine beast, I’ll let you know! I won him against an Ophirian breeder of great renown! »

Jaskier manages to regain control of his horse by bribing it with sugar cubes. He dusts his ridiculously bright undershirt and puffs out his chest, a pout on his lips and a frown on his face. What a ridiculous little peacock, Geralt thinks fondly to himself.

« So you got the rowdiest foal of the group by winning a game of Gwent? »

The wolf enjoys teasing that birdie just to see those pretty lips purse even more as anger and embarrassment taint his cheeks bright red. Nonetheless, he can’t help but notice how sharp and skinny Jaskier looks. The boy has gained a few scars for those pounds he lost to the winter, one of them decorating his chin, hidden by the neglected stubble that’s probably been growing for weeks on his cheeks and jaw.

« Hilarious, Wolf. Well, don’t count on me to buy you a round this time, considering how rude you’re being! »

« I doubt you could afford it anyway. »

He doesn’t mean it to come up this way, but the words leave his mouth before he can stop them. His golden eyes immediately go back to those ocean blues, expecting them to reflect a wounded pride or annoyance. He meets nothing but tiredness and lassitude instead. The boy looks exhausted, like he spent the winter on The Path instead of settling down like any sensible Witcher would do.

« Yeah, well. I wouldn’t say no to warm wine if you’re willing to pay. The herbalist isn’t here anyway, I doubt he will be back before the evening. »

Geralt grunts in acknowledgement and leads the way back to the closest village, not bothering to climb on Roach.

They settle in the only tavern in town. A fire is roaring in the chimney and Jaskier doesn’t lose any time picking the table closest to the fireplace.

Geralt orders stew and a jug of warm wine. Jaskier offers him a shy smile and mumbles a thank you before digging in. He’s downing that stew like he’s afraid it might disappear before he finishes the plate, and though the meat tastes like it’s from questionable origins, he looks as sated as ever once it’s down his gullet.

Geralt pushes his plate over to Jaskier, who welcomes it with one of his terribly bright grin. The wolf wonders if those lips would taste of summer were he to lean over and kiss them. That’s a terrible thought after spending the winter with the woman he loves, but he can’t exactly help it. It’s been on his mind for almost a year now.

« Sorry, I haven’t eaten anything but jerky and stale bread for days. »

Jaskier’s voice is barely a whisper over the crowd that’s now gathering around the bard who just settled in a corner of the tavern. A wanderer surely, here to collect some coins and the public’s favor. The singing seems to revive everyone’s spirit, and even the scrawny little bird hums along, sipping warm wine with both hands around his cup.

« You don’t go back to your kind for the winter? »

Jaskier has a sad little smile on his face when Geralt mentions the other witchers of his school.

« No. Once we leave, we are not allowed to go back. They just ... drop us off somewhere in the land and we have to make do. I couldn’t find my way home even if I wanted to. »

That’s a strange way to keep the place hidden, but Geralt doesn’t comment on it. Jaskier seems eager to switch to a less heavy subject anyway, and just like last time, they drink and eat their way well into the night.

That’s when he notices Jaskier dozing off and he offers to pay for a room. Geralt insists despite the bird’s protest, and in the end, they share a roof over their head, the wolf on the bed and Jaskier in that small nest of blankets and beddings he lays out on the flooring. How fitting for a bird.

Jaskier is out in an instant. He breathes loudly more than he snores, but it doesn’t bother Geralt, used to sleeping with his much louder brothers. In fact, the company is welcomed, after so many nights getting used to sharing a room with Yennefer.

He closes his eyes, and when he finally wakes up, the sun is high in the sky and his new companion is still deep into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to @necronism for correcting my dumb ass, ily dude


	3. Chapter 3

It’s a peaceful morning. The floorboards are creaking from the wind that’s howling outside, making the entire inn groan as if in pain. But there is sun peaking behind those white, heavy clouds, and the warmth of it makes waking up all the more agreeable. Geralt lays on the single bed, unmoving as he opens his eyes for them to immediately settle on the sleeping bird that’s been nesting on the dusty carpet. Jaskier is tangled in the sheets he laid off for himself, one bare arm sprouting from the white drapes while one of his feet has somehow managed to lose its sock. He’s straight up snoring this time, talkative even in his sleep. He’s obviously bothered by something and for a minute Geralt worries that he might be having nightmares. He knows how horrific a witcher’s dreams can be, and he stands to wake the younger man up, a hand on his arm just in case Jaskier decides to put his witchery reflexes to good use. But when Jaskier mumbles something that sounds awfully like a complaint about a « cards cheating bastard who is not his brother anymore » and that his pout transforms into giggles, he decides against it. He leaves the boy to his fantasies and heads downstairs for breakfast. 

The server offers him the rest of yesterday’s warm wine as well as a fresh loaf of bread and a clod of salted butter. Soon enough, he is joined by a sleepy Witcher, hair barely tamed pulled back into a short ponytail, wearing nothing but pants and his famously blue shirt. The bird yawns loudly and asks for a jug of fresh milk without even thinking about the fact that he is currently penny less and that Geralt will be paying for it. Not that it bothers the wolf, more than content to feed that boy after the rough winter he seems to have spent. 

Besides, spending winter with Yennefer but still working on smaller contracts filled his purse like never before. Despite acting cold and distant, the sorceress always takes time to make sure Geralt will lack nothing on The Path, sliding some more crowns in his pockets without him realizing until it’s too late. Not that he tries to stop her either. She’s been asking him favors ever since they’ve known each other, for her to repay him when he needs it the most is nice enough. Besides, her pride wouldn’t allow him to refuse such a benevolent gift. 

He can’t help but snort when thinking about Yennefer. Their love has always been close to the one two best friends might feel, minus the sex and obvious desire, he can’t even imagine his life without her occasional appearances and their continuous banter, only interrupted by rare moments of sincerity and heart-to-heart conversations. It does feel nice to have at least one constant in his life. 

Jaskier is surprisingly silent in the morning. He doesn’t seem able to align more than three words before chugging a whole mug of milk in front of the bewildered waitress and immediately asking for another with an unshameful yawn, exposing four canines sharp enough to tear through flesh without any effort. The Witchers secrets might have disappeared ages ago, it seems that that mysterious school of the Shrike is plenty able to recreate equally, if not more, dangerous mutants without bating an eye. 

He takes his time detailing the younger man sitting in front of him. Jaskier is too out of it to actually notice his inspection, and Geralt uses his carelessness. 

The blue eyes staring distantly in his jug, as if trying to decipher the future in cow milk, are definitely inhuman. Two sharp pupils not unlike cats’ or reptiles’ are contemplating whatever it is a good night of sleep has brought to Jaskier’s mind, and only then does he realize the nails clinging to the wooden mug are not entirely man-like either. Instead, there are 9 sharp claws drawing rigs into the cup, as well as a missing pinky covered in rings to the knuckle. The bird seems proud of his wounds, Geralt thinks to himself. He doesn’t try to hide them, covering them in gold and fake stones instead. Maybe the shrike is actually a magpie ? That wouldn’t surprise him, considering the ridiculous Witcher’s medallion still hanging around his neck. More than that, Jaskier seems to favor bright colors and intricate swords handle rather than practical ones. The craftsmanship of the blades is really to be admired, for combining decorative weapons with efficiency is hazardous at most. 

More than that, Jaskier’s hair is obviously well taken care of, even though he spent the winter on The Path. It’s not hard to conclude the other´s personal hygiene is a priority over eating and shelter. Geralt finds it a little ridiculous, but it’s not as if he can blame the other Witcher for indulging himself in buying oils and soap. Pleasure and comfort are things they ought to seek if only not to lose their mind to the hunt. There is a bright blue feather hanging to one end of the leather band tying his hair together, and Geralt can’t help the amused smile settling on his lips. How fitting for a bird. 

A Witcher hoarding cheap jewelry and using what little money he has to buy hard soap and perfume ; he definitely is one of a kind. 

In his contemplation, he doesn’t notice Jaskier’s gaze that’s been redirected to his nightly host. He only is interrupted by a small, incredulous chuckle. 

« Are you done ? » 

Jaskier doesn’t sound annoyed by his inspection. If nothing, he is basking in the attention, glowing with it even. 

Geralt grunts. « You’re a peculiar one, is all. »

« So I’ve been told. » 

—-

Once everything is packed, that Geralt has replenished his satchel with ingredients for his potions, and that Jaskier is finally dressed accordingly to his profession, they both decide to head east. It’s an untold partnership they agreed to by heading to the same direction without so much of a shared word. Jaskier is nothing of his usual babbling self until they cross the Pontar and he finally tips back the hood hiding his pretty blues in order to comment on everything he sees, much to Geralt’s dismay. 

He learns that Jaskier spent most of his winter in Skellige, whose inhabitants treat Witchers just a little better than they treat Nilfgaardians invaders. A particularly feisty siren left that scar on his chin, and he eventually admit her charms might have worked enough for him to lower his guard and allow her to come close enough. 

They ride until sunsets taints the sky of its orange and purple shades and he notices Jaskier getting restless on top of his unruly mount.

« We should make camp before the night settles. » 

Jaskier is more than eager to agree and without a word, they both head into the woods bordering the road. They don’t stray too far, just enough to be safe from the main path’s prying ears. They find a small grove with easy access to water (a blessing, really) and that’s when Geralt realizes Jaskier’s life on the Path is not so dissimilar to his. They both clash when time is to settle, hurrying to the same tasks only to realize that they now have enough small wood to light a bonfire and enough hunting game to feed a small army of witchers. They look at each other and both chuckle awkwardly before settling down. 

First thing Jaskier does is to take his armor off. He unties leather bands and buckles with an efficiency that only comes with experience and habit, and, as soon as his boots are off, spreads his toes next to the fire. The sigh of relief he lets out makes Geralt smile, and the wolf takes it upon him to cook two of the hares they managed to catch. Jaskier’s kill is efficient, a crossbow bolt right through the poor creature’s eye. Geralt’s is a bit more messy but just as effective. He’s always been more proficient with a sword anyway.

Jaskier manages to keep silent up until the meat is cooked, and only then does he takes a small jar of small white cristal he peppers all over his meat.

« You barely have enough to pay for warm wine and yet you travel with spices? » 

Geralt asks with both surprise and amusement. Jaskier barely offers him a look, tearing a leg from its hare and biting into it hard enough he hears its bone crack under the pressure. 

« Salt is hardly a spice, Geralt. You, my friend, must live quite a dull life for you to think of salt as a spice. »

« And you, my friend, act as if you were spoiled in that birds nest of yours. No surprise they won’t let you go back if they offer fine clothes and spices to every witcher they train. »

The wolf only means to tease, but judging by the small frown on Jaskier’s face, as well as his pouty mouth, his joking has not hit its target. 

« I’m sorry, I didn’t mean- »

The bird sighs heavily.

« I’ve not always been a witcher, Geralt. I remember my former life quite well, and Melitele blames me, I may have kept some of its luxuries. » 

Geralt can’t even relate to that. All he remembers is being a witcher. It might be even worse for Jaskier to be reminded of what life might have been had he not become a monster. He doesn’t apologize. That’s not what Jaskier needs right now. Instead, he picks up the salt and puts some on his own meal. That makes the bird smile and it’s all that matters. 

——

After that interaction, the evening is quiet. Yet, the atmosphere doesn’t darken. They are both tired from their travel, and fast asleep. Even after only one night, Geralt easily picks up on Jaskier’s sleep patterns. He’s quiet and soft in the evening, like a lazy cat purring under the moonlight. In the morning, he’s as loud as a drunk, snoring and talking as if awake. It’s yet another swear that wakes Geralt up. Jaskier is fighting his own bedroll, mumbling insults to a fantasy. He doesn’t smell angry, just barely annoyed, so Geralt doesn’t bother to wake him up. He has time to bury the firepit, pack everything up, eat cheese and grab a bite of bread of questionable freshness before Jaskier finally opens one blue eye. He immediately shuts it back when it meets the few rays of sunshine that manages to pierce through the trees. 

« It’s a wonder you managed to sleep through all that ruckus. » 

Geralt muses. That little birdie must really feel safe to sleep like this. Knowing that makes a strange feeling spread through his chest, a soothing warmth he associates with pride and flattery. Jaskier barely groans an answer and sits up. He looks like hell, and still, Geralt can’t help but take the view in. Those pursed lips especially are something to behold. 

The other witcher grunts a question even Geralt’s hearing can’t quite catch and so he simply offers the bird water and a neat slice of bread. He takes his time chewing on it before downing the waterskin and asking again.

« What time is it? »

Jaskier still hasn’t opened his eyes, lazily breaking fast on his bedroll.

« Late morning. You slept like a babe. »

Jaskier snorts and finally (finally!) spares Geralt a too blue look. 

« Beauty needs rest, wolf. »

Geralt reasons it must be why Jaskier is always looking his best when barely out of bed. 

When they are ready to leave, it’s almost noon. They both agree on eating while riding and head to the next village. If they take a break, it’s to let the horses graze or to take a lick. All the way down the road, Jaskier hums the most ridiculous and bawdiest songs. When he doesn’t, he speaks of his adventures with his brothers. Jaskier mentions Olgierd and Vlodomir (two gwent cheating bastards who are actual blood brothers and managed to survive the trials together) and in exchange, Geralt shares anecdotes about Eskel and Lambert. They both agree that Vlodomir and Lambert would get along just fine as they both are insufferable pricks who deserve to be smacked in the mouth.

The closest village is called Kettlebrine. The name makes the bird chuckle. As soon as they step in through the gates, an elderly gentleman comes up to them for a contract. According to him, it’s just a bunch of nekkers, nothing to worry about (those kinds of reassuring words always raise Geralt’s alarm) and that in exchange of the destruction of the nest, they can share the reward and a warm bed at the inn for an indefinite time. 

Of course, Geralt’s instincts are rarely wrong and so they find themselves in deep shit when it turns out it’s not just Nekkers that are terrorizing the village.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m a terrible writer, so unreliable. Anyway, have a new chapter.


End file.
